


Say Goodbye as You Dance with the Devil Tonight

by EveryDarkCorner



Series: SladeRobin Week 2018 [1]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series, DCU, Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Deal with a Devil, M/M, Oral Sex, Prison, Prison Sex, dubcon, sladerobinweek2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDarkCorner/pseuds/EveryDarkCorner
Summary: When Dick is framed by Lex Luthor and thrown in Belle Reve to rot, Slade offers a way out ... for a price.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SladeRobinWeek 2018. This is the prompt for Day 1: Deal with the Devil. I'm so excited to share this and see what other people have written for the same prompt!

OK, so Dick fucked up.  He was willing to admit that.

            Chains clinked at his ankles and wrists, the orange jumpsuit hanging baggy from his shoulders as the guards led him into Belle Reve.  He swallowed, chest tight as they marched him through the front doors and out of the sun’s heat.  Cool air conditioning blasted from the ceiling.  The hairs on his bare arms prickled.  Behind him, the door slammed, blotting out the sun.

            The warden stood in front of him, uniform neat, moustache thicker than the hair on his head.  Ex-military, Dick guessed from his posture.  He turned a grey hoop over and over in his hands.

            ‘Morning, sunshine.’  The warden stepped closer, and the guards stepped back to give him room.  ‘Welcome to Belle Reve.’

            Dick didn’t respond, holding still as his guards raised their guns.  A series of warning clicks told him the safeties were very much off.  The warden raised the hoop— _collar_ , Dick corrected miserably—and clicked it around Dick’s throat.

            ‘Comfy?’  The warden smirked as Dick ground his teeth.  ‘For our rowdier friends, these babies lock up their freaky powers.  No laser beams or punching through concrete in my prison.’  He reached for his belt, and Dick saw a flash of black.  A gun?  ‘Since you don’t have any powers, your collar just has the second function.’

            Dick barely had time to draw breath, let alone brace, before the warden clicked the remote at his belt.

            And Dick went down.

            It burned, like ice burned pressed against his skin.  His throat tightened as if he was being strangled.  Dick barely registered the pain of hitting the floor, muscles spasming.  It felt like every limb was jerking on strings, all tugging in different directions.  His stomach heaved.

            Then, abruptly, it stopped.

            Dick lay still, gasping, muscles twitching and shaking.  He throbbed, like he’d been beaten all over with a baseball bat.

            ‘Ten seconds, and you didn’t even throw up,’ the warden said, with mock astonishment.

            Dick gulped as the guards bent and hauled him to his feet.  When they let him go, his knees buckled.  They caught up again, dragging him up.

            ‘Legally, I’m allowed to shock you for two minutes,’ the warden said mildly.  ‘I’ve seen men last longer.  But after a while, I gather your brain starts to melt.  We’ve got a few guys here still dribbling in a corner.’  He gave Dick a hard smile.  ‘Don’t push your luck, and you won’t wind up one of them.’

            Shuddering, legs like wet noodles, Dick forced a nod.  He caught a last look at the warden’s smug face, before the guards shoved him onwards.

            He staggered past the reception, took the neatly folded bedsheets from the guard behind the desk, and moved through the grey hallways, trying to keep his back straight.  To not show any more weakness than he already had.  He stepped out into an open room, dotted with tables and benches.  All nailed down.  The walls around him stretched high above, walkways sweeping around each floor, giving access to the barred cells.  Dick stared up, and forced himself to close his mouth.  It was like walking into a giant birdcage.

            As the guards led him up the stairs, the room seemed to tilt, his vision blurring.  He sucked in a breath, closing his fists to try and stave off the leftover shakes from the shock collar.  A prod in the back forced him to move.  When another guard walked past in the opposite direction, it took Dick a moment to register his face.

            Then he stumbled.  Turned.

            _No.  No way._

            ‘Keep moving.’  Another prod.

            Dick shuffled on, shaking his head.  _I’m going mad._   It couldn’t be.  He was so desperate to see a friendly face …

            He snorted.  Yeah.  Friendly.  Right.

            With a deep breath, he staggered on to his cell.

 

* * *

 

His cellmate was a pyro.  In both senses of the word.

               He sat on the top bunk, clicking a smuggled lighter open and closed, legs dangling near Dick’s head.  He’d introduced himself as Spark, a name Dick tried not to laugh at.  He didn’t think he had the right, considering.

               ‘So it turns out you can only burn your own house for insurance like, twice, before people get suspicious.’  Spark spoke quickly, and loud.  ‘Then you burn down a church and suddenly they’re all _super_ pissy, and long story short they caught me after the Kingdom Hall, and now I’m here.’  His lighter paused its clicking for a moment.  ‘What about you?’

               Dick sighed.  No point lying.  The trial was all over the news.  Maybe Spark didn’t recognize him, but someone would.  Better people heard it from him.  ‘I pissed off Lex Luthor.’

               Spark whistled.  ‘ _The_ Lex Luthor?’

               ‘Mm.’

               Oh yeah.  He fucked up.

               It all seemed to be going so well.  Superman sent the information to Titan’s Tower.  Bruce said he had invitations to the gala.  Dick just had to observe and report back.  It was practically a holiday; an evening nibbling appetisers and smiling politely in boring men in suits while Cyborg bossed the others about in Jump City.

               And then Dick saw Lex talking to that bastard Maroni, and snuck away from the party to follow them out back.  After that, the unguarded open laptop in the dark, empty room seemed like the perfect opportunity …

               Until Lex caught him.

               And had him arrested for cybercrime.

               Bruce fought so hard for him on the witness stand.  It didn’t make a difference.  The judge claimed to be making an example of him— _‘Just because you are Bruce Wayne’s son does not make you except.  Even the one percent cannot just do as they please.’_ Dick saw Lex shake his hand after the trial.

               ‘Well get you out,’ Bruce promised, and Dick nodded, barely hearing him.

               At least he was arrested as Dick Grayson.  He doubted Lex would have turned to the police if he caught Robin stealing from him.

               Spark chattered, background noise, and Dick ignored him.  His stomach coiled in a hard knot.  How many people were in this prison because he put them here?  How many would like a shot at him just because he was Bruce Wayne’s son—Bruce Wayne, who famously poured money into the Gotham PD, and the upkeep of Arkham Asylum?

               A bell rang through the prison, shrill and loud.  Dick leaped to his feet, hands swinging up automatically in defence.  At least the guards took off his chains when they ditched him in his cell.

               ‘Nice!’  Spark jumped off the top bunk as their cell door rolled back.  ‘Playtime.’

               Dick lowered his fists, and followed Spark out the cell, keeping his head down as the other inmates flooded down the stairs to their meagre recreation area.  The benches were all taken by the time he hunkered down the stairs, and Spark disappeared into a sea of other young men.  Dick slipped across the room and leaned his back against the wall.  Watching the inmates chatter and goof off, he took long, slow breaths, and tried not to feel sorry for himself.  Tried not to miss Wayne Manor, with its huge beds buried under mountains of silk sheets.  Or Titan’s Tower, where his friends were probably knee-deep in that new racing game Beast Boy wanted to buy, bickering over the last slice of pizza.

               He leaned his head back on the wall.  He fucked up.  He fucked up so bad.

               ‘Don’t look so down, little bird.’

               Dick jerked up straight, that voice going down his spine like a bolt of lightning.  He skittered back, automatically reaching for the bo staff at his belt—

               Which wasn’t there.

               The guard who’d walked past earlier leaned one shoulder on the wall and smirked.  And Dick stared, and stared longer, heart thudding, because he was crazy.  He was insane.  This couldn’t be—

               ‘Slade?’ he hissed.

               ‘Good to see you, Robin.’

               Dick’s eyes flicked around the room.  No one looked their way.  All the other inmates busily enjoyed their free time, the guards engaged in watching the inmates.  Slowly, he relaxed his stance.  He didn’t step any closer to Slade.

               Seeing Slade without his mask was … a rarity.  It’d happened once or twice over the years, sure, but never for more than a few seconds.  Still, that face was burned in in Dick’s mind.  The sharp mouth framed by a goatee, the hard lines on his forehead.  He’d covered his bad eye with a grey patch, as if to match the uniform.

               ‘How’d you get in here?’  Dick said.

               ‘I pulled some strings,’ Slade said smoothly.  ‘Looks like you could do with some.’

               Dick’s jaw tightened.  ‘I have some.  I’m getting out.’

               Slade raised his eyebrows.  ‘When?’

               ‘Soon,’ Dick hedged.

               He had no idea how long it would take Bruce to appeal.  Or what the result would be.  Movement to a lower security prison?  Public service?  He doubted he’d get off scot-free, after the fuss Lex kicked up, even with Bruce’s expensive lawyers backing him.

               Slade’s smirk widened.  ‘Well, if you want to get out sooner than _soon_ …’

               Dick narrowed his eyes.  ‘What do you want?’

               ‘A favour.’

               ‘What favour?’

               Slade’s single eye flicked down Dick’s body and back up, and even though Dick _knew_ he couldn’t see anything worth looking at through the baggy orange jumpsuit, he automatically folded his arms to cover himself.

               ‘What indeed?’

               Dick snorted.  ‘You must think I’m really desperate.’

               He turned and marched away.

               And couldn’t help but notice Spark’s eyes following him across the room—and flicking back to Slade, still waiting and watching Dick walk away.

 

* * *

 

‘How’re you holding up?’

               ‘Great.’  Dick twisted the phone cable in his fingers.  ‘Time of my life.’

               There was a crackly sound as Bruce sighed sympathetically down the line.  ‘I’m so sorry, Dick.’

               ‘I know,’ Dick said.  Bruce had said it a thousand times.

               ‘Lex Luthor will pay for this.’

               ‘I know.’  He’d said that a thousand times, too.

               Bruce’s voice became a little more hopeful.  ‘We’re working hard on your case, OK?  Would you believe Harvey Dent wants to witness for you?’

               Dick couldn’t quite restrain the horrified whimper.

               Bruce laughed.  ‘Don’t worry, we won’t let him.  Just … keep your head down, OK?  The best way to get you out of there is to prove you’re a well-behaved, upstanding young man who made a dumb mistake out of curiosity.  Don’t make trouble, and we’ll have you out in no time.’

               ‘Deal.’  Dick looked up as the prison guard waved at him, then tapped his watch.  ‘I have to go.’

               ‘OK.  Dick?  Take care.’

               Dick swallowed.  ‘Yeah, Dad.  You too.’

 

* * *

 

The mattress was hard, the pillow was lumpy, and he woke in the middle of the night to find Spark straddling his waist, lighter flickering an inch from his nose.

               Dick’s hand snapped up, knocking the lighter away.  The flame went out and the cell went black.  But as Dick lurched up, Spark leaned in and slammed his hand over Dick’s mouth.

               ‘Shh, shh, shh, don’t wanna get done for fighting, do you?’  His face glowed yellow as he flicked the lighter open again.  ‘They’ll put you in solitary for that.’  He lifted his hand off Dick’s mouth, slowly.

               Bruce’s warning to be good flashed in Dick’s head, and he gritted his teeth.  ‘Get off me.’

               ‘Saw you talking to that guard earlier,’ Spark said.  ‘Making an arrangement?’  He set his hand on Dick’s chest, and slid it down over his stomach.  He grinned.  ‘Shit, you’re ripped, huh?’

               Baring his teeth in a snarl, Dick grabbed Spark’s knee, twisted his hips, and threw Spark off him and onto the floor.  Spark landed with a squawk, and his lighter went out again.  Dick scrambled to his feet and stood, panting.  He could call the guards.  But they might blame him.  He might wind up in solitary, with Bruce’s case in tatters …

               He heard panting, and the uneven sound of Spark staggering to his feet.  ‘Round here, we don’t like little bitches who put out for the guards and not their own.’

               The lighter flicked on, and Spark lunged.

               He was gangly, but quick, and Dick barely side-stepped him in the cramped space.  Spark moved wildly, flinging his arms out, clearly used to having fireballs to keep people at bay.  Dick kept his movements measured, ducking under Spark’s flailing hands, weaving around him.  Not striking.  If he left a bruise …

               Then Spark whipped around, and slammed the lighter into Dick’s neck.

               He hit just above the collar, and Dick couldn’t hold back the yelp as the fire pressed into his skin, followed by scalding metal.  He dropped, skittering away in the dark.

               ‘Hey!  What’s going on up there?’

               The light blazed on in Dick’s cell and he winced.  As he staggered to his feet, the cell door rattled open.  Two grey uniforms poured in.

               And turned the collar on.

               Dick dropped a second time, shaking bodily, trying to scream through a clenched jaw.  It was fire, melting through the flesh just under his skin.  Tears burned his eyes.  Then, finally, the pain stopped.  One of the guards dragged Dick to his feet; the other bent and picked up the lighter off the floor.

               Dick blinked, grimacing at the tight grip on his arms, trembling from aftershocks.  Where … where was Spark?

               A shape moved on the top bunk as Spark turned over.  ‘Hey, what gives, man?  I’m trying to sleep.’

               ‘Then sleep.’

               Dick recognised that voice.

               Holding the lighter, giving him a knowing smirk, Slade folded his arms.  ‘Trouble on your first night, Grayson?’

               Dick could have killed him.


	2. Chapter 2

‘I warned you about making trouble,’ the warden said in the morning.  ‘You must really love pain.’

               Dick stood straight in front of the warden’s desk, lifting his chin.  ‘I wasn’t making trouble.  Sir.’  He tried for politeness out of desperation.  Under the bandage, the burn on his neck still throbbed even hours later.  ‘Spark attacked me.’

               ‘The guards said your cellmate was asleep in his bunk.’

               Dick stared, despairing.

               ‘Listen,’ the warden said, in a painfully reasonable voice.  ‘You’re in a cell with a known pyro.  You’ve got a smuggled lighter.  I’m not an idiot, Grayson.  So,’ he folded his arms, ‘tell me where your cellmate got you the lighter, and I’ll help you out.’

               Dick stared.  ‘But—I don’t know.  It’s not mine.’

               The warden shrugged.  ‘Then I guess this goes against your record.’

               Slade waited outside the office door.  He led Dick back to his cell.  ‘My offer still stands.’

               Dick ignored him.

 

* * *

 

 

‘ _Fighting?_ ’  Down the phone, Bruce sounded like he was about to explode.  ‘Dick, what the hell were you thinking?’

               ‘I was thinking, “Oh hell, that guy has a lighter and he’s trying to hurt me,”’ Dick snapped.  ‘I got in trouble for trying to stop a guy killing me.’

               _Or doing something else to me._   Dick shuddered.  Bruce … didn’t need to know that.

               Bruce sucked in a long breath.  ‘Listen, I’m going to talk to our lawyers but … Dick, this is going to take longer than we thought.  With that black mark on your record …’

               ‘How long?’  Dick’s voice grew small, his grip on the phone tight enough to make the plastic creak.

               ‘I … I don’t know.  I’m sorry.’

               _Oh.  That long._

               Dick swallowed.  ‘That’s OK, Dad.  Just get me out, OK?’

               ‘I will, kid.  Keep your head down.  _Please._ ’

               Dick couldn’t bring himself to make any promises.

 

* * *

 

He was eating a nutritious lunch of grey goo with grey sponge and grey noodles, when Spark took the seat next to him and hissed,

               ‘I’m gonna kill you, Grayson.’

               Dick straightened, setting his fork down, but didn’t say anything.  The guards watched from across the room.  _Don’t let them think you instigated._

               ‘I was talking to some of the boys and turns out you’re Dick Grayson.’  Spark’s eyes narrowed.  ‘Who’d have thought?  You know, Bruce Wayne testified at my pop’s trial.  Called him a menace to society.  Pop’s in Arkham now, because of him.  Or he was.  Until that breakout last year, when he got hit with Joker gas.’  Spark sneered.  ‘Now Pop’s dead because of your sugar daddy.  You put out for him, too, or is it just prison guards you’re into?’

               Dick grimaced.  ‘Go bother someone else, Spark.’

               And then Spark punched him square in the jaw.

 

* * *

 

The warden’s words rang like a funeral speech.  Dick heard ‘black mark on your record’ and ‘never getting out’ and didn’t bother to listen to the rest.

               ‘Please can I go in solitary?’ he said, when the warden paused for breath.

               ‘No,’ the warden said.  ‘I think you can learn to play nice with your friends.’

               The warden didn’t see, at dinner, when Spark slipped something out of his shoe and twirled it between his fingers, but Dick did.  It caught the light, a quick bright flash, and Spark beamed at the look on Dick’s face.

               As the guard came round, Spark slipped the knife back in his shoe.

 

* * *

 

Dick avoided going back to his cell for as long as possible.  He stood in the corner downstairs while the other inmates enjoyed their free time, keeping an eye on Spark and his buddies.  He seemed to have a lot of them.  More than yesterday.

               Dick wasn’t surprised when Slade came to stand beside him.

               ‘Leave me alone.’

               ‘They’re going to kill you, you know?’ Slade said mildly.

               ‘I’m getting out.’  Dick shot him a hard look.  ‘Without your help.’

               ‘Ah.’  Slade straightened, raising his chin.  ‘This would be the hearing scheduled for tomorrow morning.’

               Dick jolted.  ‘What?’

               Slade didn’t even try to conceal his smirk, the bastard.  ‘Perhaps you weren’t supposed to know …’

               A hearing so soon?  That was insane.  For a moment, Dick’s heart lifted.  Then, at Slade’s smug expression, it crashed.  Of course.  Bruce’s lawyers hadn’t had time to put a decent case together.  The hearing was tomorrow because it would destroy Dick’s chances.  He could practically hear the opposition now—‘ _He’s only been in jail two days and he’s already getting into fights—why should we give him a second chance?’_

               It wasn’t fair.  Why?  Why would anyone do this—

               He ground his teeth.  ‘Luthor.’

               ‘Yes,’ Slade said.  ‘I understand he’s doing all he can to keep you here.’

               Dick closed his hands into fists.  If the appeal tomorrow failed, how long before he was allowed another one?  Months?  Years?  Bruce would try, again and again.  And Luthor would sabotage all of them, one way or another.

               If Spark didn’t gut Dick first.

               As if reading his thoughts, across the room Spark looked up.  A moment later, the dozen other inmates around him looked up too, all staring right at Dick.  Some glaring.  Some grinning.  A cold shiver went down his spine.

               ‘My offer—’

               ‘Still stands.’  Dick meant to snap, but his throat was dry, and the words came out hoarse.  ‘I know.’

               Slade shrugged as the bell rang, calling the inmates to their cells.  ‘Sleep with your eyes open tonight, Robin.’

 

* * *

 

 

Dick didn’t sleep at all.

               He sat up on his bunk, hour after hour, crossed-legged and fists clenched.  He was used to fighting sleep.  Ten years of night time crimefighting had him pretty well trained.

               Tomorrow morning.  He just had to wait for tomorrow morning.  Bruce and his lawyers would win the appeal at the hearing, and Dick would be free.

               He wished he could believe it.

               Dick’s heartbeat thrummed like the wings of a small bird.  He tugged the shock collar.  Too tight.  Choking.

               On the top bunk, Spark shifted.  Dick went rigid.

               Spark shifted again, and Dick’s chest tightened.  Not just turning over in his sleep.  Spark was getting up.

               Dick took a deep breath.  He could take him.  He fought low-lifes _with_ their powers every night of the week.  With the collar blocking his pyro powers, Spark was just a dumb kid.

               Slowly, teeth gritted, Dick rose to his feet and edged away.  He kept his tread light, his movements silent.  He could just see Spark’s shadow, looming over his bunk.  He couldn’t tell which way Spark was facing.  Dick closed his fists, dropped into a fighting stance, and braced.

               The cell door rolled open.

               Dick whipped round, but didn’t even see the fist that connected with his stomach.

               He fell, his insides liquid, but he forced himself to roll and bounce back up.  Clutching his stomach with one arm, he struck out with the other at the nearest shadow.  His fist hit something that crunched.  There was a yell, then someone grabbed his arm.  Dick shifted his weight and snapped a kick out to the side.  Another yelp, and the hold loosened.  The footsteps and panting breath all muddled together.  How many people were in here?  He lashed and kicked, fists snapping out at any shadow that moved.  He was used to fighting in the dark and they weren’t; they fumbled and lumbered.  He heard cries as they hit each other, stamping on one another’s feet to get at him.

               Another hand on his arm.  Dick kicked out, but whoever grabbed him stepped away.  Where were the guards?  There was enough yelling.  Why hadn’t they come?

               Someone grabbed Dick’s other wrist.  He yanked against them, twisting, kicking, but couldn’t break free.  He drew his breath to scream for help—

               A hand smothered him.

               They covered his mouth so hard he couldn’t part his lips, pinching his nose for good measure.  Dick lurched and swung up his legs, heaving to try and draw breath he couldn’t find.

               They dragged him down.

               Dick struggled, lungs aching, stomach throbbing, head spinning.  He snapped out his foot and felt a satisfying crack against his heel, but next thing something pinned his legs.

               Someone straddled his waist.  ‘Told you I was gonna kill you, Grayson.’

               Something cold touched Dick’s throat, and where were the damn guards?  _Where?_   He curled his back, trying to dip his chin and cover his throat.  But the hand on his mouth held his head up.  He tried to scream but the air had nowhere to go, and the best he managed was a strained grunt.

               The knife dug into Dick’s throat.  Where were the guards?  _Where were the guards?_

               The burn of the shock collar was almost a relief.

               The people holding Dick’s arms immediately let go.  Dully, through the roar of blood in his ears, he heard a series of thuds as everyone else hit the floor.  His teeth chattered as he jerked and thrashed, muscles seizing.  It was tearing him apart, his muscles ripping, bones cracking.

               It stopped.

               Dick gasped, aching lungs finally getting air.  He was still shaking when someone grabbed his arm and hauled him up.  He tried, feebly, to tug away, but their grip was strong.  They drew him forwards, stumbling over other moaning bodies, and out of the cell.

               ‘Come on now,’ a voice murmured, close to his ear.  ‘I didn’t let him stab you.’

               ‘Slade?’ Dick croaked.

               An affirmative grunt.  Dick’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and his legs were weak as straw as he tried to walk alongside Slade, away from Spark and his friends.  He heard the cell door roll shut behind him.  His knees buckled.

               Slade caught him under the arm.  Blood flooded into Dick’s face, but he leaned hard on Slade’s shoulder, panting and weak.

               A door opened, and Dick hissed as Slade clicked on a light.

               The room was bare: a table in the middle, with a bar to loop handcuffs around.  Two chairs, either side.  Dick sank gratefully into the first, while Slade prowled around and took the other.  Dick clenched his trembling fists on his knees.

               ‘Here.’  Slade reached under the table and came up with a bottle of water.  He cracked it open before sliding it over, and Dick felt a tiny surge of relief that Slade hadn’t made him open it himself.  His fingers felt half-numb.

               The water sloshed a little as he lifted the bottle, but a few sips sent coolness spreading through him; instant relief.  ‘Thanks,’ he croaked.

               Slade tilted his head.

               ‘So I guess now I go in solitary.’

               ‘The warden won’t put you in solitary.’  Catching Dick’s disbelieving stare, Slade shrugged.  ‘He doesn’t hate you enough to put you in solitary as a punishment, and he doesn’t like you enough to put you in for your own good.  Besides, he’s in Lex Luthor’s pocket, and Luthor wants you dead.’

               Dick stared.  Of course.  _Of course._

               His gaze dropped down to the table.  To the bottle.  His shoulders sagged.  ‘I’m not going to win this appeal tomorrow, am I?’

               ‘No.’

               Dick glanced up.  He expected to see Slade smirking, but instead Slade’s brow was low, his lips tight.

               _He actually thinks I’m going to die in here._

For a moment, he bristled.  Screw Slade.  He fought off way worse than a few inmates every night of the week.  But then … his friends always had his back.  Bruce always had his back.  And in Belle Reve, Dick had no one.

               Except Slade.

               And if not for Slade …

               He remembered the trace of that knife over his throat, just above the collar, and shuddered.

               Dick took a long breath, and drew himself up.  ‘Your offer.’

               He was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the flash of relief that crossed Slade’s face.  Then came the smug smirk he’d been waiting for.  ‘Give me what I want, and I’ll get you out.’

               ‘How?’  Dick tried to keep his face hard.  ‘I’m not spending the rest of my life on the run.’

               ‘No need.’  Slade slipped a mobile out of his pocket and set it on the table.  ‘I have something Luthor wants.  If I give the word, he’ll make sure the appeal tomorrow tips in your favour.  You’ll be released from Belle Reve into safe custody.’

               Dick narrowed his eyes.  ‘What do you have?’

               Slade’s eyebrows rose, almost imperceptibly.  He didn’t answer.

               Tightening his grip on the water bottle, Dick sat back.  ‘Will it hurt Batman?  Or the Titans?’  He hesitated.  ‘Or _anyone_?’

               Who was he kidding?  This was Slade, and Lex Luthor.  Of course it would harm someone.

               But Slade said, ‘Batman and your friends will be unharmed.  As will the public.’

               A long quiet.

               ‘Of course,’ Slade added softly, ‘you’ll be allowed to stay in this room until the hearing is over.’

               A longer quiet.  Dick turned the bottle around and around, heel tapping under the table.  Was he really going to do this?  He tried to hold Slade’s gaze, and found it piercing.  He swallowed.

               ‘… And what you want?’

               ‘You.’  Slade didn’t flinch, or blink.  He leaned across the table, as though longing to leap over and grab Dick whether he agreed or not.  And—Dick flushed—the image made heat coil in his lower belly.

               He breathed slowly, trying to think.  Trying to run through his options.

               He swallowed again—and held out his hand.  ‘Deal.’


	3. Chapter 3

               Slade’s smirk spread into a sharp grin.  He took Dick’s hand—

               And tugged him over the table.

               Dick yelped, his knee banging on the table’s edge, free arm flailing uselessly.  But Slade cut the sound off, pressing his mouth to Dick’s in a crushing kiss.

               It was … strange.  All awkward angles and complaining muscles, Dick’s neck arching back, his hand crushed in Slade’s grip.  But at the same time, the warmth coiling in Dick’s belly flared and he pressed up, lips moving.  Slade’s beard brushed Dick’s chin as he laughed softly into his mouth.

               ‘Eager?’

               Dick growled.  ‘Only eager to be out of this hellhole.’

               But Slade scoffed.  He loosed his grip enough for Dick to wriggle closer, to kneel more comfortably on the table.  ‘Don’t lie, Robin.’  He hooked his hands under Dick’s knees and tugged, yanking Dick to the edge of the table so his feet dangled over the edge, and all that held him in place was Slade’s own body.  Slade lowered his head, pressing his mouth just under Dick’s collar.  ‘You want this.’

               As he kissed and nipped at Dick’s throat, Slade leaned his hips in, pressing them together, and—

               Dick’s breath hitched, and he barely swallowed a moan as his blood rushed downwards.  His hands curled around the edge of the table, and tightened, and tightened.  And Slade’s teeth scraped the soft skin at the base of his throat, and Dick whimpered, and then whimpered louder as Slade ground his hips forward again.

               He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline, spiked and dropped and spiked again, or the way he suddenly couldn’t breathe without panting, or the blood draining from his brain into his cock, but the room seemed to blur.  Dick tilted his head back, arching into Slade.  Slade let out a heavy breath, fingers curling into Dick’s ass.

               Heat flooding through him, Dick fumbled at his orange jumpsuit, searching with half-numb fingers for the zip at his collar.  He tugged it down and rolled his shoulders out, and Slade ran his hands down Dick’s arms to work the sleeves off over his wrists.  Breathing hard, Dick reached up over his head and hauled off his white undershirt.

               Slade’s hands were on him instantly, his mouth hard against Dick’s.  He kissed slow, tongue lashing past Dick’s lips, as his fingers traced Dick’s ribs, his collar, his chest.  Dick didn’t bother restraining the moan when Slade brushed his thumbs over Dick’s nipples, rolling his hips at the same time.

               Through the haze of sparks flickering over his skin, and the strain of his cock against the lower half of his uniform, Dick thought, _This was supposed to be bad.  This is supposed to be payment._

               It wasn’t bad.

               It wasn’t bad when Slade hooked his thumbs into the uniform spilled around Dick’s hips, or when Dick lifted his body so Slade could slide it off down his legs, taking Dick’s boxers with it.  It wasn’t bad when Slade’s hands moved slowly from Dick’s knees up his thighs, tracing the skin feather-light and agonising.  It wasn’t bad when he reached Dick’s cock, and—

               ‘Fuck,’ Dick whispered.  He dropped his head on Slade’s shoulder, gasping as Slade curled his fingers and tugged and loosened and tugged in a perfect, unbroken rhythm.  ‘ _Fuck._ ’

               ‘I knew you wanted it,’ Slade murmured, close to his ear.  Dick felt Slade’s breath on his neck and shivered.  ‘Now you want me to fuck you, Robin, don’t you?’

               Dick nodded weakly, toes curling, face burning hot.  He buried his nose against Slade’s neck and inhaled.  No cologne.  Just Slade’s skin.  Slade’s sweat.

               Slade leaned back, hand not slowing on Dick’s cock, and caught Dick’s chin.  He lifted Dick’s head up, forcing him to look Slade in the eye.  ‘Tell me you want it.’

               For a moment, Dick could only pant and twitch.  He wanted—he _wanted_ —

               ‘I want you to fuck me.’

               His voice came out raw as shattered glass.  The instant he said it, a new wave of heat shot through him, spreading from his cock all the way through his body, like a sip of hot coffee spreading through him on a cold day.  Shame.  Want.  Dick’s breath hitched and his toes curled, and he was so close—

               Slade slowed the pace of his strokes.  Softened his touch.  ‘On your knees, Robin.’

               He stepped back, then settled in the chair behind the desk.  Swallowing around a dry throat, pushing back the shakes, Dick slipped off the edge of the table.  As his feet hit the floor, he felt Slade’s stare travel down his body and back up, and that one eye was sharp as a blade.  Resisting the urge to grab his uniform, to cover himself, Dick lowered to his knees.

               Lazily, Slade spread his legs and unbuckled his belt.  Dick’s heart hammered as he drew down the zip of his trousers, because he knew, he _knew_ , what Slade would make him do …

               A deep breath, and Dick shimmied closer on his knees.

               ‘That’s it,’ Slade murmured, one hand moving loosely on his cock, the other climbing to the back of Dick’s head, fingers crawling into his hair.  ‘Let me have you.’

               A tremor trickled down Dick’s spine.  He lowered his head, and ran his tongue over the tip of Slade’s cock.  A brief taste of salt.  Taking another breath, Dick licked again, and again, and then kissed, lips moving fast over the smooth skin.  He almost didn’t believe it when his own cock twitched, aching for contact.  Aching for more.

               ‘Hands where I can see them, Robin,’ Slade murmured, as if reading his mind.  ‘We have plenty of time yet.’

               Oh Christ, his voice.  Dick moaned, cock straining, but set his hands on Slade’s knees and kept them there.  Slade’s hand tightened in Dick’s hair, and drew him down.  Dick panted fast through his nose, panic clawing at his chest.  Because he couldn’t fit it all in.  He’d choke.

               But Slade moved mercifully slowly, an inch at a time, rolling his hips and thrusting into Dick’s mouth a little more, and a little more—and Dick’s hands tightened on Slade’s knees and his legs trembled, but it was OK.  It was … it was _good_.

               Heat shot through him as Slade’s cock brushed the back of his throat, combination pride and lust.  Dick parted his lips a little more, jaw aching, and rolled his tongue against the ridge at the underside of Slade’s cock.  Slade let out a heavy breath.  The sound went to Dick’s cock like a lightning bolt, and he dipped his head again, tongue wriggling.  Slade’s leg twitched.

               Gasping short, sharp breaths between thrusts, Dick curled his lips over his teeth and moved faster, tongue curling and sliding and stroking.  Slade’s hand tightened in his hair, and each scattered, uneven gasp only made Dick want to move faster, work harder.  His heart hammered, blood roaring in his ears, almost drowning out his own heavy panting, the wet sound of his mouth moving over Slade’s cock.

               Then, so suddenly he yelped, Slade snatched Dick’s head back by the hair.

               ‘Stand up.’  Slade panted—had Dick ever actually heard Slade breathless before?—rising to his feet himself.  ‘Turn around.’

               Dick got up, rocking awkwardly on stiff legs.  He turned to face the table.

               And Slade curled a hand around the back of his neck, and pushed him down.

               Dick whined, cock pressed against the hard edge of the table, the metal cold on his bare chest.  But Slade’s grip remained hard on his neck, pinning him down.  Dick heard shuffling behind him, the sound of a packet ripping open.  He closed his eyes.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Breathe in—

               Something cold touched his leg, and he yelped.

               ‘Relax.’  Slade practically purred.  ‘Relax, Robin.’

               The cold touch slid up Dick’s leg, and he realised it was Slade’s hand.  The trace of his fingers left a cold, wet trail behind them, and then Dick choked as Slade rubbed a slow, deliberate circle around his ass.

               Slade waited just a moment, until Dick’s breath evened out, before pressed his finger forward.

               Dick gritted his teeth to restrain the whine, but that only made the rest of his body tense, and clamp down on Slade’s finger.  So he gave a sharp pant and, as Slade moved his finger, let the moans and whimpers escape.  A moment of discomfort, and then the light stretch felt hot and strange and sweet.  Another finger traced Dick’s ass and then pressed in.  He spread his legs further, suddenly soft and weak.

               Slade murmured something behind him, but Dick couldn’t hear it, or couldn’t understand it.  Everything was warm and aching and straining, and another finger was just more of a hot blur.  He arched his back, moving into Slade’s touch, whimpering and wanting.

               When Slade drew back his hand, Dick swallowed, took a deep breath.  The rip of another packet.  Slade’s hand tightening briefly over the back of his neck.

               And then pressure.

               And heat.

               It was intense, like fire tearing through him.  Dick writhed, moaning unabashedly, teeth gnashing, bucking up for more.  His fingers curled and loosened on top of the table, and when Slade began to roll his hips, Dick shuddered and moved with him.  Every hitched breath from Slade felt like a victory.  Every snap of his hips felt like a reward.

               Slade didn’t stop him when Dick reached under the table and curled his hand around his own cock.

               Gasping, arching, curling.  Everything ached and Dick kept moving, knees locked, balanced on the tips of his toes.  The wet slap of skin-on-skin brought new flashes up his spine; the tightness in his cock built, and built, and—

               Dick came with a cry that would’ve torn the walls down, if Slade hadn’t smothered it with his fingers in Dick’s mouth.

               Moaning around Slade’s hand, shuddering from aftershocks, Dick licked and sucked on instinct, mind a blur, legs trembling.  He slumped, sore and trembling, as Slade’s strokes became faster.  Harder.  As they began to burn.

               And then Slade snarled, and curled over Dick’s body.  He gripped Dick’s shoulders in both hands, as if he expected Dick to crawl away.

Instead, Dick arched his back up into Slade’s touch.

               A moment passed, and then Slade drew away.  Dick slumped on the floor, limbs shaking.  He wanted to sleep forever.

               Slade straightened his uniform took his seat again.  His eye flashed to Dick, and only the slightest flush on Slade’s throat gave away what he’d been doing.  He beckoned Dick over, and when Dick shifted close, he pressed Dick’s face against his leg.

               Dick was too exhausted, too overheated, and too … damn, too _happy_ to fight him.  He leaned his head against Slade’s thigh and sighed, and closed his eyes.  He listened to the light tapping sound as Slade sent a text.  A moment later, his phone pinged.

               ‘Congratulations,’ Slade said dryly, ‘you just won your hearing.’

               ‘S’not until morning,’ Dick pointed out.

               ‘A technicality,’ Slade said, and Dick surprised himself by laughing.

 

* * *

 

Dick jittered as the guards led him out the door.  No more orange jumpsuits.  No more plastic tray dinners.  No more cellmates trying to kill him.  Cyborg once told him he wouldn’t last a single night in prison.  Dick could now argue that, technically, he’d lasted two.

               ‘You _will_ stay with your parole officer at all times,’ the guard at his elbow said.  ‘You have one chance, Grayson.  Don’t blow it.’

               ‘I won’t,’ he promised, as they drew him up to the car.

               The guards let him go, and one of them gave him a shove.  ‘Civvies in the car.  So’s your parole officer.  Get out of here.’

               Grinning, Dick hurried to the car.  Later, he’d think about what he did to get out.  Later, he’d swallow down the shame and come to terms with all of it.  But right now—right now, he was free.

               He opened the door and sprawled in the backseat.  ‘Hi.’

               His civvies were neatly folded on the chair beside him.  Dick picked them up, and frowned.  This … wasn’t the Armani suit he was wearing when he was arrested.  It wasn’t fresh clothes sent from Bruce, either.  The material was just like his Robin uniform—soft, breathable, but tough.  And it was black.  Black with … with a slash of bronze.

               His parole officer turned round in the driver’s seat, and Dick’s stomach plummeted.

               ‘Hello, Robin.’

               Dick lunged for the door, but the locks clicked down before he reached the handle.  He whirled back.  ‘What the hell, Slade?’

               Slade only smirked.  ‘Oh, Robin.  Don’t you know better than to make a deal with the devil?’


End file.
